


the way to a man's heart

by vlieger



Series: bakery au [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-25
Updated: 2013-05-25
Packaged: 2017-12-12 22:41:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/816903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vlieger/pseuds/vlieger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex works in a bakery. Eric is still a Hurricane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the way to a man's heart

**Author's Note:**

> this is so ridic. thanks a ton to [bergusia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bergusia) for beta and the title ♥

The first time Eric goes into the bakery, all he wants is a Gatorade. When he goes to pay, though, the guy behind the counter looks at the bottle, then at Eric, smiling, and says, "This all?"

"No," stutters Eric, even though _yes_ , he doesn't need anything else. It's just-- the guy is kind of gorgeous, shaggy hair falling into his dark eyes, with a strong, open face like Eric likes, mouth wide and pink, and creases on his cheeks that Eric really, really wants to touch. "No, uh, I-- I'll have-- what's good?"

The guy shrugs. "All good," he says, waving a hand. "People come, they buy, yes? Good bakery."

Eric nods slowly, but he says, "You're not being very helpful," grinning to make sure the guy knows it's a joke.

The guy ducks his head adorably, giggling a little and grinning back sheepishly. "My English," he explains. "I can try tell, you not understand."

"Well," says Eric. "Just give me your favourite."

The guy stares at him for a moment, then shrugs again and says, "Okay," reaching for a paper bag and sliding one of the display windows open.

He puts a plain-looking round donut into the bag and hands it to Eric, who passes over a ten dollar bill and says, "Keep the change."

"Thank you," says the guy, ducking his head again, and Eric stares some more before he blinks and flushes, making a quick exit.

He starts walking, staring at the pastry in his hand. He shouldn't eat it-- it's _definitely_ not part of his diet-- but he feels weirdly guilty about the thought of just throwing it away. The guy had given Eric his favourite, and in the end he takes a bite, figuring he can run it off before he gets home. He makes an involuntary, surprised noise; the pastry is soft, giving way to a bloom of something sweet and _delicious_ on his tongue. He's pretty sure it's jam, but it's _amazing_ , perfect with the not-too-sweet, lightly sugared dough. He finishes the whole thing, and does an extra few laps around his block to make up for it, distracted by the taste still lingering on his tongue.

 

Eric loves the fall in North Carolina. It means a lot of things: the start of a new season, having somewhere to focus all his slowly-built-up summer energy, seeing the guys again. It's also just really pretty, the crisp leaves and orange skies, and still pleasant enough to go for runs most days.

Usually he times them around late afternoon, on days he doesn't have a game, and usually he takes his own sports drink with him, but the next time he goes he forgoes carrying one of his own so he can stop by the bakery again. He's totally just supporting a local business, he tells himself, even though his stomach swoops weirdly when he sees the same guy behind the counter. He smiles at Eric, glancing at the sports drink, and says, "More cake?"

"Oh, uh," says Eric stupidly. He really, _really_ shouldn't, especially with the one he ate the other day, but he finds himself examining the display anyway. "Those ones," he says, pointing at the tray half-filled with the same pastry the guy had given him the other day. "Are there any more?"

"Lot more, yes," says the guy, nodding. "In oven, for warm."

Eric nods, smiling. "Great, can I get a box of them?"

"Box?" says the guy, wrinkling his nose a little. 

"Uh," says Eric. "Yeah, like, a box." He makes an awkward square shape with his hands and adds, "A lot, you know. For my team. Lots of people."

"I know box," says the guy, smirking slightly, like he's laughing at Eric, but not in a mean way. "Big box, small box? Box for ring, or box for-- " He breaks off, waving a hand. "Cold thing."

"Refrigerator?" says Eric, laughing. "No. Box for maybe twenty."

"Ah." The guy nods. "Okay. I get box."

"I'm Eric, by the way," says Eric stupidly while he's watching the guy place the pastries neatly into a folded white box with the bakery's logo on it. 

The guy looks up, blinking. "Alex," he says slowly.

Eric smiles. "Nice to meet you, Alex," he says, because he's a massive dork, and Alex flushes a little, ducking his head and going back to filling the box. 

He slides it across the counter, when he's done, and says, "Is all?"

"Yeah," says Eric, handing over the cash.

Alex rings it up and says, "Hope team like," when he passes over the change.

"I'm sure they will," says Eric earnestly. "I did. They're amazing."

Alex smiles, and Eric leaves feeling super warm somewhere low in his stomach.

 

"What's that?" says Jordy curiously, nodding at the box when Eric turns up for practice with it in tow.

"Motivation," says Eric, placing it carefully in his stall.

Cam approaches, sniffing loudly like a total freak. "Is that _cake?_ " he says.

"Sort of," says Eric, slapping Jordy's hands away when he reaches for the box. "Not til _after_."

"That's shitty motivation," says Cam, tilting his head. "You'll make everyone fat. And if they're good they'll want more, and then they'll get fatter. Vicious cycle, man."

"It's a one-time thing, you freak," says Eric. "What, you think I'm gonna fork out for cakes every practice? They're from this place near me, thought I'd throw them some support."

"You're such a loser," says Jordy.

Eric shoves him. "Watch it or you won't get any," he says.

"I'll just have yours then," says Jordy.

Eric rolls his eyes, but he definitely will not, since Eric's already planned out his exercises this week to make allowances for another pastry. Totally supporting a local business like a pro.

 

The next time he goes back to the bakery Alex isn't at the counter; the guy who is though jerks his head to the back of his shop and says "In kitchen, you go see," and Eric goes, because the guy doesn't leave much room for argument, turning dismissively back to serving customers.

Alex is at one of the long benches, when he heads into the kitchen, kneading dough. He's wearing an apron and he has streaks of flour across his cheeks. He jerks his head up when Eric clears his throat, staring with wide eyes, and Eric says, "Uh, hey. I didn't know you actually-- I mean, I knew you worked here, but I thought you just did behind the counter, you know, not baking."

Alex blinks at him, brow furrowed confusedly, and eventually he says, slowly, like he's not sure it's what he's supposed to be saying, "I bake."

Eric breaks into a slightly helpless smile. "Yeah, I can see that," he says, stepping closer. "I wish I could bake. All I can do is shitty eggs for breakfast. And pasta."

Alex tilts his head, his long fingers still kneading the dough with practiced, effortless movements.. "I can show," he says. "From start, one day."

"I-- I'd like that," says Eric. "Hey, do you mind if I ask-- why did you come to Raleigh? You're Russian, right?"

Alex stops kneading this time, nodding and looking like he's considering the question. "I have friend," he says, like he's choosing his words carefully. "He come to America. I think, is time to go somewhere too."

Eric nods, biting down on his lip. "Is your friend here too?"

Alex shakes his head. "Washington," he says, pronouncing the word strangely. Eric likes the sound of it though; just likes the sound of Alex's voice, if he's being honest.

"So why Raleigh?" he says. "Why didn't you go with your friend?"

Alex shrugs. "Want to make own life," he says. "Look at map, think nice place."

"Do you still think it's nice?" says Eric, oddly concerned about the answer.

Alex smiles. "Still think nice," he says. 

"You have friends here?" says Eric anxiously.

"Bakery friends," says Alex, nodding. "You." He glances up through his lashes, smiling again.

Eric flushes. "We're friends?" he says.

"I show bake, means friends," says Alex, laughing a little. He has a really nice laugh. 

"Oh," says Eric stupidly, grinning wide. "I can-- I can come back tomorrow?"

Alex nods. "Da," he says. "Yes, good."

"Okay," says Eric. "I should-- I have to go. But I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," agrees Alex, putting his hands back on the dough.

Eric watches helplessly for a moment longer, then turns to leave, swallowing.

 

"You like cream?" says Alex when Eric enters the bakery kitchen after morning skate. Eric pulls up short, coughing.

"Uh," he says, cheeks pink, what is _wrong_ with him, oh God. "I mean, yeah, sure."

Alex nods. "Make cream puff," he says. "If good, take to team."

"I might have to lie and say you made them," says Eric, grinning. "Or they won't touch them."

"Only lie if good," says Alex sternly. "Want more customers, not less."

"Of course," says Eric, ducking his head. 

Alex smiles at him, then gestures to the counter, where he's got a few bowls set out. "Okay, come, I show," he says, throwing an apron at Eric. 

He's pretty shitty at the whole baking thing, in his opinion. Alex is really patient with him, but Eric thinks that's maybe part of the problem: the way he can't stop staring at Alex's wide, capable palms as he shows Eric what to do, his pulse jumping every time Alex touches his hands to correct him, or stands close behind him to watch what he's doing, clothes brushing, making him shiver. 

"So hey," says Eric, once the pastry is finally in the oven, "Your friend in Washington, does he bake too?"

Alex laughs. "No, he play hockey," he says. "Like you."

Eric blinks. "I-- you know who I am?" he says stupidly.

"Eric," says Alex, nodding and smirking slyly. "You tell me, no?"

"Yeah, but-- "

"I watch," says Alex. "On TV."

"Oh," says Eric. "Does your-- what team does your friend play for?"

"Washington team," says Alex blankly, like it's obvious.

Eric flushes. "But there are-- wait, he plays for the _Caps?_ "

"Capitals, da." Alex nods.

Eric stares at him. "Who?" he says.

Alex smiles that sly smile again. "Ovechkin," he says. "You know him?"

" _Ovechkin_ is your friend?" says Eric. "But he's-- "

Alex waits, eyebrows raised.

"I mean, I'm sure he's a really nice guy," Eric finishes lamely.

Alex bursts out laughing, cheeks pinking up with it, eyes creased. Eric stares; he hasn't seen Alex laugh like this before, bright and abandoned, and realises with a swoop he wants to see it a lot. Possibly all the time, if he can make that happen with his dumb comments and lame jokes. 

"Sorry," says Alex, calming. "Ovechkin, he is funny. Maybe Russian thing, have to know."

"No," says Eric earnestly. "I mean, don't be sorry. I believe you. I'm glad he-- that I-- I'm glad."

Alex smiles, wide and happy. "Good," he says. "Glad is good."

Eric nods. "Hey," he says a little crazily. "Are you-- what are you doing Friday?"

Alex blinks. "I work," he says. "Then home."

"Don't go home," says Eric, biting down on his lip and feeling his face heat up. "I mean-- my team, we're going out for drinks, you should-- if you want to-- you should come."

"Sure?" says Alex after a moment, probably of figuring out what the hell Eric is actually saying, staring at him. "Want drink with Russian?" His mouth curls up a little.

"I want to drink with you," says Eric. "I mean, if you want," he adds quickly.

"I want," says Alex. "Okay, I come."

Eric smiles at him, and Alex smiles back, and it's a palpable, not-quite awkward moment until Alex blinks, breaking it, and says, "Pastry ready now."

"Oh," says Eric stupidly, watching Alex pull the tray from the oven. They look perfect, golden-brown and delicate, and smell even better. Alex puts the tray on the counter, and says, "Now let cool, mix cream for fill."

"Okay." Eric nods. "What do I do?"

Alex slides an empty mixing bowl over to him. "Fill with cream," he says. "Then I show."

Eric nods, grabbing the tubs of cream Alex had shown him earlier from the fridge and pouring them into the bowl. Alex comes up behind him, making Eric bite down on his lip, and says, "Now add little sugar, this one," and points to a packet of icing sugar.

"How much?" says Eric, grabbing it.

"I say," says Alex, and watches Eric shake it in, adding, "Stop," when he's satisfied.

"Anything else?" says Eric.

"Da," says Alex, nodding, and guides Eric through adding a dash of vanilla, plus a good dollop of natural yoghurt, which he says stops the cream from being too sickly.

"Is recipe secret," he says, grinning. "Plus taste good." He licks a bit of cream off his finger.

Eric chokes stupidly on nothing and looks away, flushing. "Uh," he says. "Okay, now what?"

"Now we put in pastry," says Alex.

"How do we do that?" says Eric, thrilling a little bit at Alex's use of 'we,' because of how he's apparently regressed ten years around this guy.

"Like this," says Alex, holding up a piping bag and starting to scoop the cream into it. "Small end, make small hole in pastry, no problem."

"Oh," says Eric, leaning closer to look. "Yeah, that makes sense."

Alex smiles at him, holding out the piping bag. 

Eric falters. "I'll fuck it up," he says.

"I make sure," says Alex. "No fuck up."

He pushes the bag properly into Eric's hands, then steps up behind him, looping his arms around Eric and overlaying their hands. Eric's breath stutters; Alex is so _warm,_ and he's standing so close. It's so tempting to just lean back into him. He focuses on their hands instead, which isn't much better, Alex's long fingers spread out over his. 

"Okay," he says, swallowing. "How?"

"Like this," murmurs Alex, guiding his hands to pipe the cream into the first pastry.

Eric lets Alex put on most of the pressure, and watches til the pastry swells just enough.

"See, easy," says Alex. 

Eric just hums doubtfully, because Alex _makes_ it look easy, and Alex laughs quietly, a warm puff of air against Eric's neck, a little bit damp, making him shiver. 

"I stay, make sure no fuck up," he says, and Eric nods, because he doesn't want to fuck up, and also he doesn't want Alex to move away, even if it's making him flush and act like a moron.

The pastries look really good when they're done, and Alex steps away, leaving Eric's back suddenly cold, and eyes them critically, head tilted.

"Do I pass?" says Eric, laughing.

Alex nods. "Da," he says. "Not bad, first try."

Eric beams. "So I can tell my team you made them?"

"Why not tell you make?" says Alex. "Impress."

"Maybe I'll wait til after to tell them," says Eric. "They'll be too scared to try them."

Alex laughs, eyes creasing up with it. "Well, only know eggs and pasta, good reason to scare."

"Hey, shut up," says Eric. "Now I know cream puffs as well. So thanks, I guess."

Alex ducks his head. "Welcome," he says. "I put in box."

"Thanks," says Eric again, smiling when Alex passes the filled-up box over.

"You go, give to friends," says Alex. "Tell them good bakery."

"Definitely," says Eric. "So uh, I'll see you Friday?"

"Friday," agrees Alex, nodding. "I give you number, tell me where."

"Oh," says Eric, pulling out his phone. "Yeah, definitely."

He watches Alex punch in his number, lip between his teeth, trying not to smile too stupidly.

"Great," he says, when Alex passes his phone back. "I'll see you. Thanks again."

Alex ducks his head, smiling, and Eric feels another weird swoop in his stomach as he goes.

 

He actually ends up going back to the bakery again before Friday. It's probably more than a little pathetic, and he's definitely glad his teammates haven't caught on yet. Jordy had looked at him suspiciously when he turned up at training with more pastries, but Jordy's his brother, so Eric just cuffed him around the head a couple of times and told him to shut up and eat.

They'd gone down well, anyway, no complaints, and hopefully now Alex has a little more business.

He hopes Alex doesn't mind him turning up so often, either.

Alex is standing outside the shop, when Eric rounds the corner, smoking and talking in rapid Russian with one of his co-workers. He hangs back a little, watching like a creep, but just-- Alex is so bright and animated, talking fast and gesturing with his hands, grinning every few words.

He spots Eric pretty quickly, eyes going wide before he grins and waves, heading over to talk. 

It's weird; Eric is struck and a little sad over the fact that it's not the same, that Alex is much more careful and halting when he speaks English, which makes sense, but Eric wants to see him animated like that constantly, wants to see him laugh again, all abandoned like he was the other day.

He says on impulse, "Hey, are you on break now?" 

Alex nods, so Eric says, "I can-- we should-- I mean, if you want, I can show you around Raleigh a bit? I don't know how long you've been here, but I mean, I've lived here for ages, and I-- it's probably dumb. You don't have to." He trails off, palming his neck awkwardly.

Alex is staring at him, brow furrowed like he doesn't quite understand, and he says, "You show me things? Now?"

Eric nods really fast and says, "Only if you want."

Alex shrugs, dropping his smoke and crushing it under the toe of his shoe. "Okay," he says. "We go."

Eric blinks, surprised, and says, "Oh. Uh, okay. Come on, my car is around the corner."

Alex nudges him as they walk and says, "Drive now? No running, come to bakery, get fat."

Eric laughs and says, "I wasn't going to buy anything," guiltily, and Alex just slants him a look like he knows that's a lie, like he knows Eric will keep buying pastries just so he can see Alex smile at him over the counter. 

 

"How long do you have?" asks Eric as they climb into the car.

Alex looks at him, shaking his head minutely, uncomprehending.

"Your break," says Eric. "How long?"

"Ah." Alex shrugs. "Long as want. Maybe not too long."

"Okay." Eric nods. "I-- do you like hockey?"

"Da," says Alex. "Of course. Play some, in Russia."

"Yeah?" Eric grins at him, pleased. "We can go to the PNC, if you want."

"Hockey place?" says Alex.

"Yeah," says Eric, nodding.

"You big name, let us in?" Alex smirks a little. 

"Of course," says Eric, laughing and ducking his head. 

Alex laughs too, says, "Good, no problems."

They don't have time to skate, but Eric leads them out to the empty arena, which is still pretty spectacular like this, in his opinion, the empty echoing stands and pristine ice. 

Alex stares for a long time, hands in his pockets, and says, "Very big. Very cool."

Eric pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. "I love it," he says quietly.

Alex glances at him. "You show me?" he says. "Play?"

"Oh." Eric flushes. "Maybe-- maybe some other time? I don't want you to be late for work."

Alex rolls his eyes. "Other time," he says, nodding. "I skate too, so you not scared."

"I'm not _scared_ , shut up," says Eric over a startled laugh. 

"Yes scared, or show me now," says Alex. 

"Oh my God," says Eric. "Fine, hang on."

He heads to the locker room while Alex grins triumphantly, grabbing just a pair of skates and pulling them on next to the ice. 

"This is stupid," he says. "What am I supposed to do? No stick, no puck, no team."

"You show off," says Alex, laughing. "Skate!" 

Eric rolls his eyes and skates a couple easy loops around the rink, speeding up as much as he dares without pads or a helmet. "I'm not a figure skater," he says, sliding to a smooth halt in front of Alex. "No tricks or anything. I need a team to make me look good."

"Look good," says Alex seriously, eyes bright on Eric's.

Eric blushes horribly, coughing. "Thanks," he says. "I-- we should play sometime."

Alex nods. "I like," he says, and Eric climbs over the barrier, smiling.

"Okay," he says. "Ready to go back to work?"

"If must," says Alex, but he looks happy, and Eric's glad, that he has something he loves to go back to, someplace in Raleigh he's comfortable, with nice people around. He tries not to think too hard about how he wants to be all those things for Alex too.

 

Eric's already a couple of beers down when Alex arrives at the bar. He's told the guys he asked him, telling them sternly to, "Be nice. He's new in town. Or well." He tilts his head. "New-ish. He doesn't speak English very well, so don't like, interrogate him or anything."

"Why would we want to interrogate him?" says Cam suspiciously.

Jordy peers at him. "Oh my God, do you have a _crush?_ " he says delightedly.

"No," says Eric, blushing and giving himself away completely. "No, I just-- he's just the guy from that bakery I told you about. He's really nice, whatever."

Jordy cackles, and Jeff perks up interestedly from a couple seats over, so Eric figures it's time to shut this conversation the fuck down. He takes a long swallow of his beer, scowling.

He waves Alex over when he catches sight of him, and Alex approaches, grinning.

"Hey, you came!" says Eric. He's just had a couple of shots, at Cam's evil insistence; he can feel it going to his head a little. It's just-- Alex looks amazing, in a tight black t-shirt with really short sleeves that show off his well-muscled arms, and jeans ripped artfully over one thigh and one knee. Eric finds himself fixated on the bare skin of Alex's thigh, until he snaps his eyes up guiltily and adds, "Uh, sorry. Here, sit down. You want a drink?"

"Of course," says Alex, grinning. 

"Cool," says Eric. "Jordy, go get more drinks. This is my brother, by the way, Jordy," adds Eric, nodding at Jordy, who grins and says, "Hey, man," as he slides out to get the drinks.

"And this is Cam," continues Eric, pointing at Cam. "Jeff, Justin, Riley. The babies." He grins.

Jeff scowls at him, but they all nod and say, "Hey," to Alex, so Eric figures it's a win.

"You drink much already?" says Alex to Eric, grinning.

"Uh, some," says Eric. "Why, can you tell?"

"Very pink," says Alex, nodding and pressing his knuckles briefly to Eric's cheek.

Eric feels his eyes go wide, reflexes too slow to catch it, and Alex smiles, dropping his hand.

Jordy comes back then, and Eric watches quietly as Alex tips back a couple of beers and a few shots, talking briefly but easily with the guys. Eric's glad they're not excluding him or anything.

He's being kind of a shitty host, or whatever, just watching rather than talking. He just-- it's weird, but he wants to be able to lean towards Alex and have a proper conversation, wants to be able to focus on him entirely and draw out that bright, expansive laugh again, make his eyes crease up with it, his cheeks dimple and go pink. His hair looks really nice now too, Eric notices stupidly, damp and sticking a little to his forehead. Eric's hands itch to reach out and push it back.

"Um," he says, when he realises Alex is talking to him again. "Sorry, what?"

Alex laughs quietly. "I say, you okay?" he repeats.

"Oh," says Eric, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "No, I-- yeah. I'm great."

Alex keeps looking at him, and then he stands, abruptly, and grabs Eric's hand, hauling him upright. Eric stumbles a little, partly from the drinks he's had, and partly from realising that Alex is _holding his hand_ , his palm warm and a little sweaty, strong fingers folded around Eric's.

He drags Eric towards the smoker's exit; Eric's not sure what he's expecting, exactly, but he stumbles after Alex, and Alex lets go once they're outside, pulling out a packet of cigarettes and lighting up, looking at Eric contemplatively.

"Why sad?" he says after a moment.

"I'm not sad," says Eric immediately, guiltily.

Alex just drags deep on his cigarette and waits, eyebrows raised.

Eric sighs. "I just-- I wish I could talk to you," he says.

Alex blinks. "We talk," he says, gesturing between them, brow furrowed in confusion.

"Not like-- I guess I wish I could speak Russian, or something," says Eric. "It's dumb. I just-- I saw you talking with your friends at the bakery, and you looked so happy, and I want to make you happy like that, because I-- I really like you," he finishes helplessly.

God, what is he even _saying_. He must've had way more to drink than he thought.

"No learn Russian," says Alex. "You help learn English. English speaking place. I get better, then talk more. But already happy." He dips his head slightly, not meeting Eric's eyes. "Already make happy, with you. I like too."

"Okay," says Eric, nodding earnestly. "Okay, that's good, I'm-- I'm glad. We can do that. Practice, and. I'm not-- it's really dumb, I mean, I like talking to you now. You're great, you don't need to-- I just want. More, I guess. For-- for you, and. With you." He shrugs.

Alex bites his lip and drops his half-finished cigarette, crushing it beneath his shoe and stepping closer to Eric, right up close so he's in Eric's space. Eric lifts his hands involuntarily to settle on his hips, and holds his breath, staring at Alex, the laugh-lines on his face, his eyes.

Alex puts a hand on the back of Eric's neck and pulls him down, kisses him, soft and smoky.

"Can't talk much like words, but like this, yes?" he whispers when he pulls back.

Eric makes a really stupid noise and nods as he leans in to press their mouths together again, harder this time, opening his mouth and letting Alex lick inside, put both his gorgeous, long-fingered hands on Eric's face and kiss him wet and thorough.

"Good," says Alex when he pulls back again, slightly breathless. "Like this, good."

"Yeah," whispers Eric, stroking his hands along Alex's sides. "Really good."

Alex smiles, white and wide and so fucking _bright_ , pressing their foreheads together, and all Eric can do is smile back helplessly, let Alex kiss him again, and just hold on.


End file.
